||ASAHD||

Four days later, I can't think of anything better than spending time alone with Serah here in my house. She has been busy studying for her continuous assessment tests and hopefully she is done with them for the semester. It was on Monday that I last saw her and I terribly miss her. Who would have thought missing someone so bad was close to being painful? I wouldn't for sure. I wanted her to stay around but with me close to her, I'm pretty sure she wouldn't have studied much. Which would not be fair to her. I would hate to see her failing because I stole her time to read and revise.

It's six forty in the evening when the doorbell distracts me from my current task, which is watching some hip-hop choreography. Betting it to be Mawia, I close the laptop and hurry to the door. Upon opening it, Mawia is standing there with a seductive smile on her face. That is quite the opposite of what I was expecting. Which is a sweet smile. In the last few weeks, she has impressively grown very confident and expressive. I smile back at her before checking her out. She must have worn her iris purple spaghetti dress on purpose. Admittedly that makes me feel like tearing it to pieces before fucking her against this door. She is such a daring temptress when she wants to be. Hopefully, this is only reserved for me.

"Traffic was a bitch. I should've arrived one and half hours ago," she complains making me smile more.

"It's always a bitch at this hour. What's in the backpack?" I ask, giving the stuffed peach backpack a once-over.

"Can I spend the weekend with you? My mind is spiraling from excess information fed to it during the assessment tests revision. I can't think of anything other than spending time with you. I also think I'm long overdue for a sleepover," she requests.

I don't think my smile can spread further than it already has at this point. Obliviously, she has made my work much easier.

"You're more than welcome to stay the weekend. Actually, you've made it easier for me. I was planning on asking you to," I confess and she smiles with a shrug. "Come in."

"Thank you," she appreciates as she steps into the house.

I lock the door and draw in the slightly heavy grey curtains. Once done, I turn and stare at the curvy figure standing in the middle of my living room. One thing is for sure, there is sexual tension in the air. Since we went heavy on make-out on Monday, it's been hard not to think of sex with her. I'm sure she has been thinking about it too. Well, given that recently we've been having double chats. Don't be judgy, but we have been sex chatting and chatting on other random or lifestyle things.

"I love your dress," I compliment as I stalk towards her.

She checks herself out before she looks up and smiles wickedly. She could make a good facial actress. She is so good at changing her smiles.

"Thank you. But I'm starting to think you love it for other purposes," she says as she places her backpack on the single couch.

"I'm busted. I think even when you're wearing it, I could still get access to what I want," I say in a husky voice.

"What do you want?" she mischievously asks as we close in on the space between us.

"I want you. All of you in all ways possible," I respond before dipping my head and tracing a soft kiss on her lips.

She rises on her toes as she seeks my ghost lips. One of my hands wound around her waist before tugging her closer so our fronts are flush against each other. More so to have her breasts pressed on my chest. Once she finds my lips, she kisses them before I take over the kiss, deepening and making it more passionate.
We savor on each other's lips as our hands find their own ministrations. Mine caress her ass under the dress, pushing her closer to feel the hard man down there.

Once successful in making my point, she moans in my mouth as her hand traces down my body to my zipper. She traces the hidden man with her soft and tiny hard making my breath grow ragged. She presses her hand on it which makes me tug at her a little roughly. She moans in my mouth, begging me to do something. I lift her in my arms and proceed to the bedroom where I make love to her, fuck her and again, all over my bedroom. Just as I have always fantasized. Although in the fantasies things were a little hazy and not as sweet as in real life.

"So, this is what you have been hiding under these clothes?" she asks as she checks me out.

We are on a little break from sex. I have to admit I never expected it to be this perfect at first. Damn flexible girl. I can bend her however I want.

"What?"I innocently ask.

"Perfect pecs, a damn whole six-pack, defined crevices, naughty thoughts grilling V. I'm not naughty, but I want to lick my way down that V as many times as I can."

"I don't know where you took the shy girl but I happen to like you more this way. You're daring. And you are very much allowed to do as you please with my body," I assure her.

She smiles and kisses one of my pecs. As she raises to place a kiss on my lips, the damn lights go out.

"Fucking lights," I grumble before continuing to kiss her for a moment. "Do you mind chilling a little as I run for the candles in the kitchen?"

"No, but make it quick," she groans.

"Yes ma'am," I nod as I step out of bed rushing to the kitchen commando style.

On my way there, the sound of heavy rain from the balcony registers in my ears. Perfect night for the rain to fall and the power to go out. The night will be more intimate. I use my phone torch to get four candles and grab the candelabra that I stole from grandma's house about three years back. I light them up as I place them on it. After, I carefully walk back to the bedroom. Like the pretty pervert Mawia is, she stares at my bouncing cock the whole time. I would be lying if I said that it isn't growing hard from her hungry stares. I place the candles on one of the drawers the ln proceed to bed to explore my naughty girl a little more.

My eyes flutter open before shutting tight from the bright light filling the room. Seemingly, the electricity is back on. The candles are almost burning out. We must have been asleep for long. I wonder what time it is. Before turning to grab my phone on the drawer, my eyes land on the beautiful girl nestled in my arms. She seems to be sound asleep with what seems to be a smiling face. Without much effort a smile of my own floats on my lips as I continue to watch her.

Pretty. I don't know why I started calling her by that pet name. I guess it just popped out of my mouth and stuck on her. It always feels as if it is the right pet name for her. She has to be reminded that she is pretty every day. Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder. However, only a few remember that you don't always see the real beauty in something unless you look closer. Serah is for sure beautiful. She just doesn't acknowledge it.

Her eyes flutter open as her arm drapes over my waist. She softly murmurs as she tosses and looks up at me. A wicked smile crawls on my lips when her screams of my name--both names--register in my head. She is a screamer and that, like the perverted person I am, turns me on so bad. It's a good thing the walls are soundproof. Otherwise, the old-fashioned landlord would be here in the morning with an eviction letter. Like a wolf, I've claimed her as mine.

As long as I'm with her, no one can dare put their hands on her. Alternatively, I also think she claimed me. My back feels a little sore from the slow and painful scratching of her surprisingly short nails. Sooner or later, the marks will heal. Perhaps by then, I shall have proclaimed my love for her. After our intimate connection, I feel like whatever warm feeling I have been feeling inside me all along is nothing but love. It was something that once felt impossible to get. At least not in this era. True love is almost extinct. I pray that before it disappears completely, I get a taste of it with Serah.

"You're not asleep," she whispers interrupting me from my distant thoughts.

"I just stirred awake a few minutes ago," I say as my hand caresses her bareback. "Our candles are almost burning out," I add on.

A smile crawls on her lips making me frown a little in question.

"Why are you smiling?" I ask watching her keenly.

"Because I feel great," she confesses making me smile.

"I thought you would be feeling sore," I whisper, winking at her.

"Oh, that I am. Thanks to you," she says with a shy smile.

I've established that she is a walking contradiction. One minute she is all adorably confident and daring, the next she is adorably shy. The funny thing is that I love both sides of her. Almost equally but I've got to admit I love the daring side more. It makes me think of the wild things we could do together. Precisely, not only in bed but also outside.

"When the soreness seizes, maybe we can do it all over again," I suggestively say.

"You're like venom, but sweet venom," she says smiling mischievously.

"So you've said and I'll take that as a yes," I say and she nods in agreement.

"How long have we been asleep?" she asks.

I stretch my hand and grab my phone from the drawer. I click on the power button only to see that it is almost four in the morning.

"It's almost four in the morning," I respond.

"Oh. We slept a lot," she comments as her eyes shift to the corner of the room.

"That we did. After all, we exerted too much energy," I agree.

"You do music too?" she asks as she takes note of the shiny navy blue guitar placed on the small executive table beside my closet.

"No. The guitar is Salma's. It's been here for a few weeks now," I respond.

"Why? Doesn't she like playing it?" she asks as she sits up. I follow her movement and lean on the headboard.

"No. She has another one. I guess she has forgotten about that one in the meantime," I respond.

"She is lucky to have them. I used to have one but those strings and cords were destroyed with time. I wanted to buy another one but the cost of living in this country nowadays is high," she comments sounding a little distant.

"You can use that one when you are here if you want," I suggest.

"I doubt I remember playing it. Additionally, I don't want to play and sound horrible," she absentmindedly says.

"Why do you think you would sound horrible?" I ask curiously.

That doesn't sound far-fetched. It sounds like something that has background behind it.

"After high school, I signed up for this music school for a three months course. I thought it was easier but it never was. The trainers there were brutal. They would belittle you every chance they got. I went there feeling optimistic about my singing career but left the place a month later with nothing but pessimism, crushed self-belief, and confidence. They stole it all away from me. Most are the times when we went to sing and then they would end up comparing some of us to others.

They would negatively comment about our singing thinking that their negative comments would motivate us. Maybe push us into putting in more effort. It was supposed to work but to me, it never did. With every day that passed by, I kept feeling inferior. The feeling grew on in, not only in my singing but also in my life. I started feeling as if I wasn't good enough. As if I wasn't perfect like the others who we always gave positive comments and often commended for their work.

The same case scenario had happened to me severally when I was young. There was this time that the music teacher removed me from the music dance group because I was short. We were going to the music festivals and I was so excited that for the first time, I was going to sing and dance in front of a crowd with judges among them. The day before the festivals she called me and told me that she was replacing me with someone else. Although, I would go to the festivals as a costume and props manager. I was the one to check on the things while we were there. Like a good student or rather pupil, I did just that even though it hurt me.

It happened again in high school when I was in form one. I was told I can sing but I can't dance. So I wasn't going to fit in the music group. I ended up joining the school choir which accepted me with open arms. There my confidence flourished and once again, I started believing in my wildest dreams. Little did I know that the confidence I had gathered wasn't enough to survive the one month I was in Bright Musical School. It was stripped off of me so fast. Maybe it was because I was already giving in to the doubts that were occasionally clogging my mind. I don't understand it fully," she explains.

"So you mean to say that your Inferiority Complex disorder was cultivated since you were little and from the belittling you received?" I ask, trying to understand how it all came to be.

"Majorly, yes. Once a seed of doubt is planted in your mind, it grows in you like a plague. When it blooms, you realize too late. Every time you're competing with someone or something, you'll always think they are better than you. And because of that, feeling inferior will be your constant feeling," she responds.

"What happened after you left the music school?" I ask wanting to hear more of the story.

"My mom is observant. The following month after leaving, she realized that I was having a hard time moving on. That time, I didn't have hope with my music anymore. I felt completely crushed because I didn't think there was anything else for me other than music. She did her best and talked to me. Though the damage was too much for her to handle. So she encouraged me to go see a therapist. She felt as if that was the best decision and it would help.

Without hesitation, I started consulting one for quite a while. He was the one who figured that I was suffering from Inferiority Complex. He tried to help me get over it but some psychological disorders take time to disappear completely. Though he did give me a trick that would help me push through. That's writing down my emotions and feelings in a diary. It used to work well until I wrote about you and it never worked. I wanted to forget about you. I tried doing that by listing all the things I thought could help me do that but it was useless.

Rather, it was all in vain because nothing happened. I later came to realize there are forces stronger than written words on paper. Additionally, it sometimes doesn't matter the magnitude of the words. They might not serve their purpose. Especially if what you feel inside isn't what is reflected by those words. Sometimes we write the opposite of what we feel or what our minds think we should feel. Other times we write what we actually feel. It's slightly complicated. "

At least I've gotten to understand the roots of her disorder. I'm hoping that she will conquer it and never fall back into it.

"Now I understand why you love diaries," I comment and she smiles. "I'm sorry that you had to experience all that. However, despite everything, the good thing is that you are outgrowing that disorder. I'm pretty sure you will soon regain back full confidence and self-belief. The courage too to trample on every shitty comment some Zinjanthropus may make about you or your singing. I believe you are perfect just the way you are," I assuringly say.

"I look forward to the day I'll sing on a stage with a mic and people will go wild," she says.

"Is that your wildest dream?" I ask. She stares at me for a while before proceeding to respond.

"Performing on a world stage. Like in the X-factor or The Voice," she responds.

"Wow. That's a huge dream," I comment with a mesmerizing smile.

"I know, but it's worth dreaming. Right?" she asks.

"It is worth dreaming. You have talent and without a doubt, it can pilot your way towards your wildest dreams. You just have to believe in yourself and also believe that dreams come true," I encouragingly say. "You just need to put in some effort, hard work, and some tears but in the end, it will be worth it."

"Thank you for listening to me and encouraging me. Now you know a part of me that you wanted to know," she points out.

"Yes, I do," I agree.

"What's your wildest dream?" she asks, her eyes darting on mine.

"It may surprise you, but it is to become a Hollywood star someday."

"It's a pretty huge dream. If I was asked, you have already started working on it," she comments. "I know you can do it. Surprisingly, I think I believe in you more than I believe in myself."

"I think it's the same for me. I believe in you more than I do myself. I guess it's a matter of human habit. Sometimes we tend to first believe in the capabilities of others other than our own. Unless someone else believes in us," I say.

"That's true. Regardless, we need to make it work."

"We need to and we will make it work," I agree as I lift her chin with my index finger.

My face dips and in a second, I place a soft kiss on her lips. She then shifts positions so that is on top of me. She dips her head and kisses me passionately. I can feel my girth growing firmer than it already was.

"I'm not sore enough to take a break," she whispers as she places kisses on my neck.

"Then I'll make you sore enough to run away from my dick for a few days," I retort as I take a hold of my hard man and slide him in her sleek, wet, and warm haven.

Her head falls back in pleasure before she starts riding me like the pro she has become in one night. It is strange how we connect with other people and become one. It is a chemistry that I'll never understand but appreciate always.